Merry Little Christmas
by AStormIsBrewing
Summary: The Voyager families celebrate Christmas at home while their loved ones are missing in action.
1. Blue Christmas

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Disclaimer: Voyager's at the top of my Christmas list this year.

What did I tell you about giving me minor characters? I love them. This is following the families of Voyager through the years — though I should probably watch a few episodes of DS9 so I can get a feel for what was actually going on in the Alpha Quadrant. There, I admit it. I've only seen three episodes of DS9.

But back to business — 'Tis the season, you know. My concept was to choose a few Christmas songs and a few Voyager families, throw some plot bunnies at them, and see what sticks. I have a tentative schedule to follow:

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Year One

: John and Mary Kim; **Year Two**: Admiral Owen Paris; **Year Three**: Phoebe Janeway; **Year Four**: Liz Torres or Chakotay's random cousin _(tell me who you want to hear from)_; **Year Five**: Lewis Zimmerman; **Year Six**: T'Pel; **Year Seven**: Home For the Holidays

I didn't want to angst it up, especially since Phoebe and T'Pel are just joys to write (seriously, I love them), but I'm not going to count it out, either, especially in the early years.

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**Year 1: Mr. & Mrs. John Kim, Blue Christmas**

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I'll have a blue Christmas without you  
I'll be so blue just thinking about you

It was December 20, the house smelled of cinnamon and mint, the fire crackled in its home, and the gold light softened edges of sight. Everything was in place, and John Kim was praying for a Christmas miracle.

He had never been religious, but he was a traditionalist, and he had always given the old ways their due. Now, the old ways were all that was left of Christmas.

In the old days, his wife would bustle about, cooking and cleaning and wrapping gifts and sending cards with this glow about her, and he never knew how she managed it all. And Harry would visit and play his clarinet and would try to hide how much he really did enjoy being with his taciturn father and busy-body mother.

Mary was bustling this year, of course, but Harry wasn't here. Without their son, all the joy was hollow.

_Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree  
Wont be the same dear, if you're not here with me_

The glow that Mary always had about her had faded for a few days, when they had learned what happened, or more precisely, what hadn't happened. Voyager never reported in, and Starfleet hadn't recovered so much as a bulkhead. It was as if the ship had never existed, but they knew too well that it had, if the missing piece of John's soul meant anything.

Mary tackled the problem in the only way she knew how to — 'They're just late, is all,' she said, so often that she must have been making progress on believing it herself. So she cooked. She cleaned. She decked the halls and trimmed the tree and wrapped the presents, dutifully labeling each one. John watched from his arm chair, and nothing was different about this week before Christmas. Harry would be coming home from the academy in a couple of days . . .

Mary was always pensive as she decorated the tree. Her hair was flecked with grey, now, but she moved with an elegance that she had not lost to age as she placed each ornament, her thoughts on some distant, peaceful world. For all the miles away she seemed to be, she was not so lost as he was.

_And when those blue snowflakes start falling  
That's when those blue memories start calling_

He wanted to believe Harry was alive somewhere, anywhere, remembering his family and observing the traditions. After all, Christmas ought to be a time of cheer, and if Harry and any of his crew were alive, well, then it certainly was a time of celebration. But out here, in the cold death of the year, all the elder Kim could see was grey and devoid of hope.

_You'll be doin' all right, with your Christmas of white  
But I'll have a blue, blue Christmas_

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	2. All I Want for Christmas

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Disclaimer: Voyager's at the top of my Christmas list this year.

For this one, I want you all to think of the Mariah Carey version of the song. And the Admiral singing it.

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**Year 2: Admiral Paris and his wife, All I Want For Christmas**

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I don't want a lot for Christmas  
There's just one thing I need

For Admirals with decorated and colorful careers, this was common enough: Alicia Paris would find her husband sitting at the kitchen table, his chin sunk down to his chest and his arms crossed, snoring softly before a sealed bottle of andorian ale, a clean glass, and a single PADD.

He had plenty of excuses to do so, and still more to unseal the bottle and take a good, long swig of the burning ambrosia, though he always returned the untouched bottle to its place on the top shelf sometime before morning. For whatever reason, the tradition helped Owen conquer his demons and Alicia stopped worrying about the action in and of itself. This year, at least, her husband's strange habits might save Christmas: Santa might be the only person not hung over.

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Santa Claus won't make me happy  
With a toy on Christmas day

There was always a pall cast over Christmas in the Paris household, due to a certain conspicuous absence where the life of the party once was. All the grandkids would run away to play by themselves, while the adults would fill their glasses with as much Christmas cheer as they could stomach. Christmas was still there and still fun for the rest of the family — Alicia made certain of that — but it was times like these when she could feel how subdued and how forced it really was.

_God, Thomas, if you could see us now. . . . _With any luck — and he had a healthy share of that, no matter what anyone thought — they could spend the next Christmas together. The old song said 'Stand by your man,' but Alicia, as a mother, had to put her foot down somewhere. Even if Tom was carted right back off to New Zealand, that was right where Christmas would be. With family. She sat at the table, running her thumb along the well-worn seal. With any luck, Owen was learning that lesson, too.

Her eyes drifted to the PADD, and she jumped when she heard her husband's voice. "They're calling off the search," he said. The Parises were frozen for a moment in time, the meaning of the words stuck between them in a heavy silence. Finally, the Admiral let out a deep breath. "They're going to wait until the holidays are over, but they've exhausted every possible search. Whatever happened, _Voyager_'s lost."

"Owen—"

"Most people probably figure that, by now. They're going to schedule a memorial service, of course, probably in January or February. Fitting, too, it'll probably be rainy and foggy no matter what day they—"

"Owen." Alicia placed a hand on her husband's arm. Her tears were already dripping to the table, leaving their marks on the place where a life, now gone, had once touched. "Please."

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Make my wish come true  
All I want for Christmas is you

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**A/N:** Someone actually pegged this one after I wrote it and before I published it.

And I still need to know who I should do for year four.

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	3. Christmas Wrapping

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Disclaimer: Voyager's at the top of my Christmas list this year.

Phoebe Janeway is among my favorite minor characters of all time, so spend Christmas eve with her.

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**Year 3: Phoebe Janeway, Christmas Wrapping**

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"Bah, humbug!" No, that's too strong  
'Cause it is my favorite holiday  
But all this year's been a busy blur  
Don't think I have the energy

"What do you mean, transports are—?" The reply was muffled with static, but sharp enough to cut off the half-concealed speaker. "But what about communi—" If possible, the static was sounding angry. "Are you . . . yes, of course, I need the . . . fine. Barmy codger."

The connection clicked as Phoebe Janeway stepped out of the communications booth and walked through the holiday traffic at Deep Space Nine. One cause for a brief moment of what might have passed for joy was the fact that the year was finally almost over. For whatever reason, there were more holidays packed into this part of the standard year that any other, thank you insane diversity of earth and the surrounding planets. She was sick of it.

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Now the calendar's just one page  
And, of course, I am excited  
Tonight's the night, I've set my mind  
Not to do too much about it.

Admiral Janeway used to be able to part a crowd like a biblical metaphor, but that was one talent Phoebe knew she did not inherit as she shouldered her way past a family of Bolians being accosted by the leery Ferengi bartender. She hadn't bothered to reserve quarters or anything during what was supposed to be a brief stay, so she was on the hunt for some nook — she ran through all the possible excuses she could give to her mother on why she would be spending this Christmas like a hobo.

Goddamned political upheaval.

There was actually a reason the youngest (and now only) Janeway child was traveling through the armpit of the alpha quadrant, though the one she gave the customs officials was only half-true. Yes, artists did enjoy making renditions of horrible suffering and the general unease of the calm before the storm, but nothing cured jilted, petty familial bitterness quite like starving orphans.

Phoebe's acceptance of Mark Johnson probably would have survived his eventual engagement to a new, not dead/missing woman if he had not been so . . . dramatic about his proposal. 'I'm going to start living again . . . and I'd like it to be with you.' Why had she ever approved of him? Sap.

The working vacation provided by her escape to Bajor had left Phoebe burned out — but she had gotten a lot of work done for her next exhibition. Her sponsors had 'gently hinted' that her art had become too nostalgic over the past few years, and Phoebe just wanted to get away from what was becoming the 'Janeway Curse.' Out in the boondocks she could pretend that her mom was happily solving massive, brain-imploding math problems and that Kathy was off saving the galaxy from some nameless generic evil.

_Yes_, Phoebe thought, as she lowered herself into a corner, _imagination is much better than reality at this point._

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So deck those halls, trim those trees  
Raise up cups of Christmas cheer,  
I just need to catch my breath,  
Christmas by myself this year.

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